


turn off the lights (your makeup stains my pillowcase)

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and getting nasty is implied. ladies can have little a bad ways of handling emotions, far too many italics and stylistic run-ons and commas, what is technically underage drinking is mentioned?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: Poison’s resigned to the fact that this is the most he’s ever going to get.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 98





	turn off the lights (your makeup stains my pillowcase)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KilltheDJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/gifts).
  * Inspired by [and if it's alright with you, i'd really love to spend the night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22488517) by [KilltheDJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ). 



> hello!! this is not the first killjoys fic i’ve started writing, but it’s the first one i’ve finished, and if any of you are familiar with my overwatch fics you might know that i can’t get through any big projects without smaller ones here and there to help me through it, so here this is!!
> 
> basically i just flipped the pov to KilltheDJ’s and if it’s alright with you, i’d really love to spend the night which is VERY good, VERY sad and also a lot better than this so go read that first if u haven’t 
> 
> i’m grateful to ruin (@ruination-formation on tumblr) for letting me play with her fic even though this mess is nowhere near as good as yours, and probably a good deal shorter (i wouldn’t know, i haven’t checked) but thank you for letting me have a bit of fun making party poison miserable
> 
> (don’t think i’ve dropped my tumblr here before but hey! @ghostxraven for main, @ravenxbones for art wink wink wink wink)
> 
> title is from of all the gin joints in all the world by fall out boy

In regards to unhealthy coping mechanisms, Party Poison was at the very least in the running for desert-wide grand champion — which, given the general habits of zonerats and killjoys was a hard won title. 

And, in his opinion, he should at least get some pity points for being so self-aware about it. He knows —  _obviously_ — that what he’s doing is not only ill-advised and practically designed to break his own heart and the heart of.....whoever this was — he couldn’t be bothered to care about their name, or if they could tell that Poison was so obviously desperate, but they had a choppy fringe of neon green hair and the stupid crack they’d slurred about being “complement’ry,  _baby_ ” had been enough for Poison to think ‘ _alright_ ’ and drag them off to a corner — but that it won’t fix anything. As a matter of fact, it’s probably going to make it worse, because Poison was seeing dark hair and a tilted smile and bright, pretty eyes even when he kissed Green Hair so hard it hurt and bit their lip until it bled. And that’s the _problem_ , that’s why Poison is even _here_ in the first place, and he’s not solving anything, just making it more painful and complicated, but he’s already had a few drinks and _this_ is at least distracting _enough_ that he doesn’t really care.

He finds that he  does care, though, hours later, when he finds himself stumbling through the door of the Diner, slamming it against the back of a booth, wandering to the kitchen and running straight into the consequences of his actions. 

Fun Ghoul is staring at him through the entrance to the kitchen. And isn’t that just the way because the entire reason why Poison had taken the ‘Am and disappeared off to the first crowded, shitty club he could find was to forget the person currently sitting on the kitchen counter, thin yellow lighting creating a moonlight corona behind his head.

Poison wants to turn around and leave. He wants to yank his jacket up around his neck to hide the bruises he knows are there, but that would be suspicious and Poison _knows_ Ghoul is smart, that he would connect the dots and realize why Poison had left. Give him a look of pity and say,  _“sorry, but I don’t like you like_ that”. (Ghoul wouldn’t laugh at him. Because Ghoul is actually a good person. But Poison couldn’t stand having to see Ghoul look at him like he felt sorry for him.) And Poison knows that Ghoul doesn’t feel the same about him, how could he? How could he have fallen anywhere near as hard as Poison barely wants to admit he did? Not when Ghoul is so much _better_ than he’ll ever be, when Poison is the kind of person to spend the night with someone he doesn’t even remember the name of while thinking about someone else, the kind of person who stomps on three hearts at the same time and then laughs it off in the morning. 

So instead of doing any of those things, Poison swallows and pastes on the most confident smile he can, raising a hand to give Ghoul a wave. 

Ghoul closes his eyes for a second, ghostly pale in the fluorescents. Poison is sure that this has got to be the last thing Ghoul wants to be dealing with right now, feels the pit of guilt in his stomach get a little bigger. There’s a beat of silence, and Poison doesn’t try to fill it. He’s swaying on his feet and a little dizzy and he’s not sure what he would say if he opened his mouth right now, if it would be anywhere close to  _hi, I missed you, I’m sorry_ , which is what he’s dangerously close to blurting.

But because Ghoul is Ghoul, he hops off the counter and makes his way over to Poison anyways, despite the tiredness in his voice when he says, “Hey, Cherry Bomb, how was your night?”

Poison doesn’t want Ghoul to look at him right now. He can feel his eyes sweeping over the marks on his throat, and even besides that, his hair is a disaster and he knows he probably looks washed out and tired and pathetic in the thin lighting of theDiner’s old bulbs. Ghoul looks unfairly pretty, though, the dingy light somehow working in his favor, sitting in the crown of his hair like a ring of fairy lights and slipping over the planes of his face, carving shadows where loose strands have fallen over his eyes; Poison has to wrench his own away so he doesn’t stare or do something even more stupid. “...’S good,” he manages to mumble, keeping his eyes on the floor. 

Ghoul reaches out first, gently putting an arm over Poison’s shoulders, as if he’s dealing with a skittish animal, as if Poison’s going to bolt, which isn’t entirely unfair because Poison feels like he might. His voice is soft, too, a little soothing, like he can tell that Poison’s on edge (and by Destroya, Poison hopes that isn’t true). “Yeah? You tired yet?”

Poison  _is_ tired, in more than just the physical sense, and his heart is in overdrive, which is enough apparently to distract him because the next thing he knows his mouth is saying “Was hopin’ you’d come to bed with me?” And even though he immediately shuts it, kicks himself for even asking (he _knows_ Ghoul will, if Poison begs hard enough, and he feels sick with guilt enough already, without forcing Ghoul to take care of him right after bursting in covered in bruises, after clearly having _been_ with another person) he finds himself hoping that the answer will be yes, unable to stop himself from leaning into Ghoul’s shoulder, from reaching up and holding Ghoul’s hand, because Party Poison is weak and he’s had too much to drink and he’s in love with him.

Ghoul doesn’t give him an answer, just leads him in the direction of his room. 

_Their_ room. 

Poison lets himself have that, if only because he can’t actually have Ghoul, but he can pretend, just a bit, under the shelter of darkness, with Ghoul next to him, breathing in the same space, letting Poison press as close as he wants. Poison ignores the sour feeling in his throat, the fact that his lungs feel tight, and tries to focus on not tripping on his own feet and not the warm arm against his shoulders. 

The darkness of the room, as Ghoul toes the door open, is a blessing, what with the headache Poison can already feel building behind his eyes, and as Ghoul carefully guides him through the room to the edge of the mattress, he squeezes them shut. The steady pressure against his side vanishes as Poison falls forwards into bed, catching himself at the last moment on his free arm, the other hand still tangled with Ghoul’s, and an exhausted laugh, high-pitched, slips between his teeth before he can stop it. He wants to fall asleep right away, can already feel himself drifting off, but Ghoul doesn’t lay down and he slits his eyes open again. 

Ghoul is unmoving, a dark silhouette over Poison’s side of the bed. He tugs on his hand, and Poison grips harder. 

“Hey, Cherry Bomb, you have to let go, okay?”

“No,” Poison mumbles. He feels like he’s about to cry, but can’t find it in himself to feel as horrified as he should feel, because it’s dark in the room anyway and that’s been Poison’s armor, how he’s dealt with this, and besides, he thinks selfishly, doesn’t he deserve this? Can’t he at least have this one thing, as the Witch’s consolation prize to him, a  _sorry Poison, but it’s never gonna happen, is this alright instead?_ _“_ No, ‘cos then you’ll leave, and I don’t want you to leave.” He’s doing it again, asking for too much and getting exactly what he wants just so long as it isn’t the one thing he wants most. He holds on harder.

Ghoul’s voice, coming out of the blackness, sounds a little too cheerful, like he’s smiling, trying to reason with him. “I gotta pull the blankets up, you gotta let me, y’know?”

Poison knows he’s lying. Poison knows Ghoul doesn’t really want to be here, that he’s doing this for his sake, and that Ghoul just wants to put him to bed so he can go. If he was the kind of person Ghoul deserved, he would let him go, not beg and plead and cajole for even more than he’s already gotten. But he’s not, and he’s feeling particularly unreasonable, and he  _wants_ Ghoul to stay, wants  _him_ to want to stay, so he just twists his fingers tighter. He’s probably squeezing too hard, but he doesn’t care, and words are hard right now. “I don’ want you to leave,” he repeats, hoping if he pulls on Ghoul’s arm enough times Ghoul will give in.

He does. Poison knew he would, and feels guilty all over again, but he shoves that down because this — Ghoul in his bed, Ghoul holding him while he falls asleep — is all he’s got, and if he doesn’t at least  _pretend_ like this is fine, and okay, then it won’t be anymore and Poison doesn’t know what will happen.

Poison is forced to let go of his hand so he can pull the blankets up, but as soon as Ghoul is under them Poison scoots as close as he can, tucking his head under Ghoul’s chin. He can feel Ghoul’s hand rest gently on his waist, wants to call it _tender_ even though he knows that isn’t right, and if he closes his eyes tightly enough he can almost imagine saying  _I love you_. 

“Sweet dreams, Cherry Bomb,” Ghoul sighs against his hair, and with his heart in his throat, Poison’s mental filters decide it’s time for one more surprise for the night, and he blurts, “Sing somethin’ to me?” 

Ghoul shifts, and there’s silence for a second, where Poison thinks maybe he said it too quietly for Ghoul to hear he spoke at all.

“Repeat it?”

Poison lifts his head away from Ghoul’s neck, just enough to be able to see Ghoul’s eyes shining in the weak moonlight creeping through a crack in the blinds and repeats his request. Another split second of silence, long enough for Poison to regret asking Ghoul for something else tonight. 

“Yeah.”

And this was why Ghoul would always be too good for him, Poison thinks as he settles back down against Ghoul’s chest, feels Ghoul’s arms come up to tuck him closer as Ghoul thinks of something to sing. All Poison does is take and take and take, and Ghoul always somehow finds more to give. He does it for everyone in the crew, though especially Poison it seems sometimes. Even on nights like this, where Poison comes home drunk, comes home having kissed someone else. Poison can feel Ghoul’s heartbeat against his ear, wants to kiss _him_ ,  even though it’s a terrible idea and what would he even say to justify it, “ _hey, I know I went out and got drunk and made out with a stranger, but if it makes you feel better I was thinking about you the whole time even though I was trying not to_ _”_? That sounds awful even in his head, and Ghoul doesn’t _want_ him to anyways, is here just for Poison’s sake, because that’s who he is; he’s kind and thoughtful and treats him like Poison’s as good as he knows Ghoul is, even though Poison doesn’t deserve it and could never deserve it. 

Ghoul starts, carefully, to sing, and Poison doesn’t even focus on the words, brain caught on his voice, quiet and rough and nothing that constitutes good singing at all, but still going forwards with it because Poison asked him to, and it’s beautiful. Poison doesn’t recognize the song, but it sounds sweet, and if he doesn’t think about it too hard, he can pretend. Pretend that the reason that Ghoul is singing for him is because Ghoul’s in love with him too, that he isn’t hopelessly pastel for someone who doesn’t love him back, who sees him as an obligation, a responsibility. He can pretend that he’ll wake up tomorrow morning and Ghoul will let him kiss him hello. And Poison won’t have to escape to the kitchen before Ghoul even wakes up, to avoid having to look him in the eye and acknowledge the night before in the light of day. Poison’s resigned to the fact that this is the most he’s ever going to get, to the fact that the best he can do is retreat into his imagination and act like he’s fine when really what he wants to do is twist his fingers into Ghoul’s hair and kiss him and say _hey, doll, wanna make this a thing_ or hopefully something less stupid than that.

Poison knows it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks that Ghoul almost sounds sad, voice cracking on the words of the song, but he doesn’t let himself go down that path, because desperately obsessing over possibly imagined details like that is enough to drive him insane, so he just buries his face further in Ghoul’s throat, letting his breathing even out. 

He’s falling asleep for real now, Ghoul’s hand warm against his hip (and couldn’t this be real? Couldn’t Poison have this forever, if he wasn’t so damn unlucky?), and his voice soft in his ear, and Poison thinks that Ghoul could have the world if he wanted,  _should_ have the world, and Poison too if he wanted him. For a little bit, at least, Poison had Ghoul, even if in the morning he wouldn’t anymore. 

He thinks he feels a drop hit his cheek, right as he’s drifting into unconsciousness, but he can’t be sure it’s not his imagination, and he doesn’t know whether it’s his or Ghoul’s, or what it would mean either way. And then he’s asleep, and it doesn’t matter, and he doesn’t have to think about anything else until morning.


End file.
